The Man Thou Gavest eBook

“I—­I cannot face life without you,”
Truedale spoke hoarsely, “I never really had
to contemplate it before. I need you—­must
have you.”

He came a step nearer, but Lynda shook her head.

“Something has happened to us, Con. Something
rather tremendous. We must not bungle.”

“One thing looms high. Only one, Lyn.”

“Many things do, Con. They have been crowding
thick around me all day. There are worse things
than losing each other!”

“No!” Truedale denied, vehemently.

“Yes. We could lose ourselves! This
thing that makes you fling aside what went before,
this thing that makes me long—­oh! how I
long, Con—­to come to you and forget, this
thing—­what is it? It is the holiest
thing we know, and unless we guard it sacredly we
shall hurt and kill it and then, by and by, Con, we
shall look at each other with frightened eyes—­over
a dead, dead love.”

“Lynda, how—­can you? How dare
you say these things when you confess—­Oh!
my—­wife!”

“Because”—­and she seemed withdrawing
from Truedale as he advanced—­“because
I have confessed! You and I, Con, have reached
to-day, by different routes, the most important and
vital problem. All my life I have been pushing
doors open as I came along. Sometimes I have
only peered in and hurried on; sometimes I have stayed
and learned a lesson. It will always be so with
me. I must know. I think you are willing
not to know unless you are forced.”

Truedale winced and went back slowly to his chair.

“Con, dear, unless you wish it otherwise, I
want, as far as possible, to begin from to-day and
find out just how much we do mean to each other.
Let us push open the doors ahead until we make sure
we both want the same abiding place. Should you
find a spot better, safer for you than this that we
thought we knew, I will never hold you by a look or
word, dear.”

“And you—­Lyn?” Truedale’s
voice shook.

“For myself I ask the same privilege.”

“You mean that we—­live together,
yet apart?”

“Unless you will it otherwise, dear. In
that case, we will close this door and say—­good-bye,
now.”

Her strength, her tenderness, unmanned Truedale.
Again he felt that call upon him which she had inspired
the night of his confession. Again he rallied
to defend her—­from her own pitiless sense
of honour.

“By heaven!” he cried. “It
shall not be good-bye. I will accept your terms,
live up to them, and dare the future.”

“Good, old Con! And now, please, dear,
go. I think—­I think I am going to
cry—­a little and”—­she looked
up quiveringly—­“I mustn’t have
red eyes at dinner time. Brace and Betty are
coming. Thank heaven, Con, Betty will make us
laugh.”

CHAPTER XVIII

Having agreed upon this period of probation both Lynda
and Truedale entered upon it with characteristic determination.
There were times when Conning dejectedly believed
that no woman could act as Lynda was doing, if she
loved a man. No, it was not in woman’s power
to forego all Lynda was foregoing if she loved deeply.
Not that Lynda could be said to be cold or indifferent;
she had never been sweeter, truer; but she was so
amazingly serene!